


The Nightmare Dreaming

by theblankartist



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Gore, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Nightmares, Violence, attempted non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblankartist/pseuds/theblankartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel never felt like a man. He was too effeminate in mannerism and appearance. And it didn’t help that biologically, he would never be accepted as a man either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightmare Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the manga "After School Nightmare" but does not follow the exact same story line. It does include similar attributes essential to its relation, such as the dreams and the main character being intersex.

“ _Doctor, is the baby okay?”_

“ _The child is developing well. You’ve nothing to worry about.”_

* * *

“Alright, boys, we’re playing dodge ball today!” The masculine coach stood before his class, surveying the students as they lounged around on his bleachers, in his gym, during his class. The boy in the top row, who always seemed to give him trouble, looked away from him with disinterest. “Get your sorry asses down here and split up into teams! Karofsky! Hudson! Team captains!”

Coach watched as top row boy remained unattached, all of the rest of the boys met on the floor with adequate enthusiasm despite their level like or dislike for the game.

Top row boy was the only one left.

“Hummel!” Coach barked out, thick, unshaped eyebrows furrowed with dismay. “Pick your team and get your wimpy carcass down here!”

Blue-green eyes widened with shock, not expecting to be left on the top bench by himself.

Hadn’t there been an even number of boys last week? He counted, and recounted, his classmates on the court, thin brows creasing on his forehead. He expressed his confusion to the burly man a few levels beneath him. As dumb as the question sounded in his ears, he couldn’t remember if there truly had been another boy in his class and the niggling feeling in the back of his mind wouldn’t let the matter rest.

“I don’t giving a flying rat’s ass in Hell, Hummel, just pick a team! We haven’t got all day for your sissy questions!” Coach’s tennis shoe clad foot, complete with yellowing gym socks and werewolf fur-covered shin, slammed onto the lowest level of the bleachers.

Kurt slunk down the seating structure, taking his sweet time about joining his unwilling compatriots.

“Hurry it up, Ladyface!” Karofsky jeered from the opposite side of the gym, elbowing jokingly one of the boys next to him as they chuckled at his taunt.

The brunet flinched, fiery glare locking onto his classmate as he jumped the rest of the way down and stalked over to his reluctant teammates. Finn Hudson didn’t spare him a glance as he ushered them all to gather up to talk out a game plan.

The game went as well as he had anticipated.

The only slightly more update (and legal) version of stoning was a commonplace, rowdy game of fun for this class of boys. They treated it like town judgment in their small tribe of teenage men, rallying behind a fabricated cause to pick on the weakest members of the class. The chosen was always targeted ruthlessly. It was an unspoken rule that one did not attempt to assist the chosen, lest he be chosen next.

The slim brunet was always chosen, regardless of circumstance.

Kurt Hummel never much felt like a man. His voice was too high-pitched compared to the other boys his age. When he spoke, he felt like a tittering baby bird in a world of scavenging buzzards; he was weak prey for them to practice their cocking and intimidation games. He couldn’t even begin to join them in that field. If his defenseless twittering weren’t enough, his baby face, his too beautiful face (too effeminate and delicate, not masculine enough, with gentle slopes instead of strong juts and curves, not enough to even begin to have his backbone taken seriously) would not invoke a feeling of seriousness in anyone. Then there was his baby chick body, newly hatched with his still-wet feathers, just a delicate morsel to be stalked for self-satisfaction.

He was not a weakling. Years of taunting, years of working out and dancing (because it made him feel, put him at ease, _did not_ make him any less of a man) had toughened his skin and tightened his body. He was a natural athlete. He could dodge the throws and fire back with equal fervor… and very little grace. He hated this game.

Despite his abhorrence, the porcelain-skinned boy was competitive. It was only natural that a _man_ would possess the drive to win. And if he was honest with himself, he hated losing more than he hated this game.

Kurt had suspected a horrible surprise when his opponents ginned malevolently at him at the beginning of the game.

One of the red, rubber balls rebounded off the wall and rolled toward the halfway line on the floor, resting on Kurt’s team’s side. In the midst of the bedlam, his mind zeroed in on the ball, and before he could stop himself, he had lurched forward, intention clear.

He was caught unaware.

His fingers nearly graced the top of the sphere when he felt two weights hit his side.

The first was large and stunned him momentarily, more than anything, it pissed him off.

Then the second one hit.

Right on top of the reddening skin from the rubber ball, he felt a much harsher strike, smaller, but dealing much more harm. It split the skin with a sharp, knife-like attack, bursting blood vessels under the epidermis and knocking him breathless with its suddenness.

He doubled over, gasping as the pain splintered in his body.

The game continued around him.

They’d thrown a rock at him.

They’d hit him with a rock.

A _rock_.

The ball lying innocently there had been a means to distract him and the one that had hit him had been a cover-up.

“Quit being a such a girl, Hummel! Man up and get out of the game!”

* * *

Kurt sighed as he rested his head against the cool tile of the school shower. Normally, he would never be so desperate as to allow himself to enter the filthy domain of the average teenage ape, but he felt dirty. Dirty and vile and tainted by the condescending stares and triumphant smirks that followed him off the game pitch. They knew they had won the day’s challenge against his manhood, and he was ashamed to admit he’d given in without hesitance.

He poked the ugly mar on his otherwise flawless (he grimaced at the term, it was too girly) skin. Evidence of the stone pelting him. The doll-like (again with the effeminate adjectives) surface flashed bright white from the pressure before flooding with the horrible eggplant-crushed raspberry color.

This wasn’t the first time they’d taken advantage of Coach’s lack of sympathy towards him. Since he could remember, he’d been teased and bullied for looking so damn effeminate.

They must have sensed it. There must have been something about him that screamed that he wasn’t as fully male as he could be.

Curious fingers slipped lower, past his stomach, in between his legs to touch the soft folds that resided there. Disgustedly, he wrenched those feelers away, glaring at the drain on the floor. This ugly, unmanly part of him. The vagina he’d been born with. The horrible part of him that prevented him from being the man that he wanted to be.

There was blood on the tips of his digits.

Frustration and betrayal, by the world and by his own damn body, welled up within him and he tried vainly to keep the tears from slipping down his face.

There went his last chance of pretending to be a man. This one thing that he’d figured he’d escaped (he was sixteen, didn’t most girls get their period at twelve?) had claimed him and forced him to recognize that hated part of him.

He knew that this was the end. The end of everything he’d been struggling to hide all along. The end of his survival in the inane world that was high school. He should probably just go shopping for girl clothing now, maybe that would force the guys to stop bullying him (they wouldn’t really hit a girl, formerly a boy, would they?)

After making sure that he was spotlessly clean, and trying to keep himself from bursting into discomfited tears each time he tried to touch himself down there, he hastily dressed and removed himself from the locker room. Once he reached the second floor of the school campus, made his way to his locker. He threw his books that he’d pulled out earlier back into the crowded cabinet. He made up his mind to head to the nurse’s office. Maybe he could sleep the day away. Maybe when he woke up he wouldn’t have to worry about all of this. Maybe it would all just be a dream, a horrible, cruel dream.

“Kurt Hummel?”

Before him was a woman, beautiful and statuesque, eyes a glowing gem green (like sea foam, intangible and alluringly beautiful), and hair, long and perfect, golds jumping out of the light brown waves. The woman smiled at him kindly, removing her hands from her lab coat pockets.

“Yes, ma’am.” Timid, but just as politely, he answered.

“If you’d follow me…” She gestured to the eastern corridor beyond his locker and began walking patiently away.

Kurt slammed his locker closed and gathered up his belongings to quickly follow, falling in step beside her. “Can I ask where we’re going?”

“The nurse’s office.”

“But isn’t it that way?” He pointed behind them, toward the west, turning his head backwards to make sure that he wasn’t making a mistake with interjection.

The nurse did not answer him, instead she continued onward. She finally stopped in front a set of double doors with a placard next to it informing that it was the basement.

“I never knew we had a nurse’s station over here.” He commented offhandedly. She turned to smile at him once again before pulling open one of the doors and holding it open for him to walk through. There was a set of stairs beyond the door, bright pure white lights above head to guide the way down. Another set of double doors were propped open, the sight slightly baffling to the young brunet.

There were six beds, neatly spread amongst the wall, each with a set of white flowing curtains. Each bed had its curtains closed, except for the third one on the left side of the room. He heard what sounded to be deep breathing coming from behind the bed closest to him.

“Are there other people here?” Glasz eyes searched the seraphic face for an answer, but received no hint of one.

“Yes.”

She took his hand and softly, as a parent would, tugged him over to the open bed, encouraging him to lay down when he looked questioning back at her.

As he rested on the soft mattress, she closed the curtains around them. Her matronly smile shone down on him. “You’ve had a hard day, haven’t you, Kurt?”

He only nodded, feeling a heavy pull on his eyelids.

“You’ll feel better after this, Kurt.” She commented, seating herself on the bedside chair.

“How do you know that?” he mumbled, his lips becoming numb with each passing second.

“I’m a nurse, Kurt, I know everything.”

He wanted to ask her what was happening, why she had led him to this new infirmary that he’d never known about, when the school had managed to buy these lavish beds when they could hardly afford to replace the dilapidated tables in the cafeteria, how she had known to meet him at his locker, but the moment his head hit the pillow, he felt his mind clear. There was nothing holding him to the room he’d been introduced to. There was only the calm inside…

He gasped awake, surprised to find himself curled up on the staircase, the double doors to the infirmary open, all beds empty.

There was a weight against his throat that hadn’t been there before; a plain black cord, knotted towards the middle, encasing three overly large beads (or were they jewels) rested around his neck. He tried to lift them off, but found that they weighed more than he thought.

What the hell? He hadn’t put them there! Kurt groaned internally, whatever idiot had thought it would be funny was obviously trying to ruin his outfit. He’d been planning to wear these clothes all week!

“Hello?” He called out, wincing at the echoing silence that answered him. The staircase he’d trudged down was no longer illuminated by light. It was intimidating and unwelcoming. He walked down the three stairs beneath him and inched into the basement room.

He heard a sniffling, weak and vulnerable, in a dark corner, farthest from him. He crept forward, sure not to frighten her or jar her from her protective huddle.

Her blonde hair was dirty, crusted with dried mud, clothing filthy with whatever might dry yellow and green. In her arms she clung to a small stuffed cat, one ear appearing to have been chewed on and its left eye missing, only the torn thread remaining. She was huddled in the corner, shivering (it couldn’t have helped that she was only wearing shorts and a tank top, even he was feeling cool in his knee-high boots and double-breasted jacket) and whimpering, hiding her face and as much of the rest of her body that she could from some invisible force.

“Um, hey, are you okay?” He hesitantly reached for her, scared that his touch might frighten her even more.

Pale blue orbs searched him and a simple smile crossed her face, the missing tooth in her lower jaw becoming apparent to him. “Mommy didn’t tell me I get to have a friend over today. Daddy doesn’t like it when my friends come over, but you’re here! Do you want to play princesses?” She smiled even wider. Her small grimy hand left her stuffed animal’s ragged fur and she closed the space between their hands.

Kurt shifted onto the balls of his feet and knelt down beside her before sitting down on his bum (pointedly ignoring the notion that he was surely getting his brand new pants dirty.)

The little girl continued speaking, not having noticed that he was in contemplation.

“I like being the red princess ‘coz she can fly and hurt people.” His eyes widened owlishly, but she bulldozed on. “Did you know she made the neighbor’s cat explode one time? I don’t remember how, but I was wearing a pretty dress that day and some of his guts got on it and when I went inside Mommy started crying and made me go change. Then Daddy came home and started yelling and he hit her. She didn’t wake up for a long time. I hate it when Daddy yells.” She trailed off sadly, tugging on the ruined ear of her stuffed animal.

Kurt swallowed thickly, blinking furiously to keep the tears from falling down his cheeks. This poor little girl. “What happened to your shirt?”

She looked down at her green shorts and purple shirt (the brunet teen was trying his damnedest not to comment on the uncomplimentary colors) and smiled sheepishly. “I kinda threw up on them. I got sick last night and Daddy was asleep and Mommy was asleep, too. But its okay, I was a big girl and I cleaned myself up. Except for my clothes. I don’t know how to use the washer machine so I couldn’t make them clean.”

“Oh sweetheart…” He leaned forward and wrapped the little girl in his arms, pulling her fragile tiny body close to his, nuzzling his face into her hair.

“I like hugs.” She sighed, cuddling into him. “I know what we could do! You could come with me and we can find the ogre!”

Anything to get her out of this dank and cold room, he thought. “Where is the ogre?”

“He usually likes to scare me on the third floor. But then the red princess makes him explode like Mr. Jenkins’ cat and then I get to go play on the swings on the roof!” She grabbed his hand and began skipping towards the stairs. “So let’s play princesses on the way there! What princess do you wanna be? You can be the blue princess who can shoot lightning from her hands or you can be the green princess who can breath fire or you can be the pink princess―”

They began their ascent up the stairs and had made it to the familiar school hallway before Kurt stopped her. “But I can’t be a princess, I’m a boy.”

The reaction was instantaneous. She stopped and yanked her hand out of his own, those happy blues darkening as they narrowed in his direction.

“I don’t like boys. Boys are mean.” She clinched her eyes shut and her tiny fists gripped the bottom of her dirty shorts. “Boys only make me hurt. They always push me off the slide and make fun of me ‘coz I don’t know math.”

She backed away from him slowly, never allowing him to leave her sight. “You’re a bad person.”

The first ugly bead shattered and he let out a confused whine, one that morphed to become desperately pained.

There was a blossom of pain in his gut, different than the cramps he’d been experiencing. It felt more like his guts were being being stretched beyond their limit, he could feel the boiling blood filling his stomach cavity as they tore, and then the puncture of his skin splitting open. Blood erupted from his center and he choked, feeling it rise up his throat. The thick, coppery liquid filled his mouth and he couldn’t spit it out fast enough.

He cried out, hands folding over his midsection, the deep, dark crimson color pouring out between his frantic fingers. The second opalescent orb on the necklace broke, this time he could feel the force against his throat.

He wanted to yell out to her, let her know that he wasn’t a bad person just because he was a boy, that he wasn’t going to hurt her just because other people had, but his panic-laden mind continued to run in circles as he despairingly tried to make contact with the furious little girl who stood defensively before him.

“You deserve to die.” She deadpanned, eyes narrowing even further. There was no kinship, no trace of that former openness that she’d shown him, as her intention shattered his spinal cord and he felt a blinding white , unimaginable pain shoot to the ends of his nerves, into his brain, causing his third, and final bead to splinter.

Everything went black.


End file.
